Bramwell's Revenge
by dstrekharrylover
Summary: An 1841 PT Dark Shadows fic in where Barnabas' son Bramwell vows revenge on his former lover Catherine, who has married his rich cousin Morgan...and the perfect revenge is to marry her sister Daphne and give her everything Catherine has rejected.
1. The Wedding

**A/N: I wrote this some years ago, but just found it again. It is how I would have liked to see the 1841 PT timeline in Dark Shadows resolved. (This is one time I definitely don't go for canon!) **

**Bramwell's Revenge  
><strong>**By JM Lane  
><strong>**An 1841 PT Dark Shadows story**

**Characters:**

**Bramwell Collins, Daphne Harridge Collins – son of Barnabas, and his wife  
><strong>**Catherine and Morgan Collins – Bramwell's cousin and his wife****, Bramwell's former lover  
><strong>**Quentin Collins, a cousin  
><strong>**Flora Collins, mother of Morgan and Quentin, widow of Justin  
><strong>**Josette Collins, mother of Bramwell and Melanie  
><strong>**Julia Collins, another cousin  
><strong>**Melanie Collins, half-sister to Bramwell (Josette's daughter by Justin Collins)  
><strong>**Kendrick Young, Melanie's fiancé**

Bramwell Collins was angry. Now, it generally took a lot to set him off, but of late, injustice had piled upon injustice until no sane person could be expected to take any more. Worst of all, he had lost the one he loved to another, simply because the other man had had more money—and not just any "other man" but his own cousin, Morgan. His _rich _cousin.

It obviously wasn't enough to drive his father Barnabas to an early grave, but to treat him and his mother like dirt simply because they didn't have as much money as the rest of the family was unpardonable. As if having money automatically made them better—which he knew for a fact was 100% wrong. He had even been excluded from the family lottery...and then called a coward for not participating.

He didn't believe in all that anyway, so being excluded didn't bother him all that much—but being called a coward did. What _really_ galled him, though, was being told by the woman he had loved since childhood that he wasn't good enough for her and could never give her all she needed, simply because he was what was commonly referred to as "the poor relation." No one seemed to care about his feelings in the matter, least of all Catherine.

He now realized that what was most important to her was furthering her own agenda. Losing her was the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back—so he decided to marry her younger sister, Daphne. Purely on the rebound, of course, since she was the first woman to treat him decently. Especially when she had nursed him after Morgan had called him out, then shot him, even though he had been the one challenged and technically should have fired first.

Since then, Catherine hadn't lifted a finger for him. It was Daphne who had helped him recover and get back on his feet … and then that two-faced, high-handed, mercenary bitch thought that she could judge _him_! Well, he would show her how wrong she was—and _soon_.

Bramwell had noticed the crush that Daphne had developed for him since she had been caring for him. Once he was fully healed, he decided to propose marriage and give Daphne all that Catherine had so casually thrown away. Perhaps even have a child with her—espe-cially since his first child, the result of his last night with Catherine before her marriage to Morgan, was to be denied him.

She had told him of her pregnancy, yet had flatly refused when he had suggested that they run away together. She even declared that the father of her child would be who she said it was, that only the two of them would know otherwise. None of the rest of the family … not Flora, not Quentin … would ever know the truth. Not if Catherine had her way.

At this point in time, Bramwell Collins was thinking only of wreaking revenge on the woman who had so wronged him and thrown his love away for the sake of money and position. One thing he knew for sure, though—if she ever hoped to make Morgan believe the child she carried was his, she had bloody well better seduce him thoroughly, often … and fast!

As for Daphne Harridge, Bramwell knew she would enter into marriage with him for the reason most women do...because she loved him. With a part of him, Bram realized that he would be taking advantage of her feelings, using her for his own ends—but at the moment, he believed the end justified the means. That was all that truly mattered to him at the moment.

How sweet a balm to his injured heart and crushed vanity it would be to truly be loved for himself, particularly the slow burn Catherine would do when she saw how happy he would make Daphne, knowing her sister was getting all the attention Morgan denied her...not to mention seeing the love she had scorned given to another. He would see to it that it was thrown in her face at every opportunity. It would be pure pleasure!

As far as he was concerned, Catherine deserved all she got, particularly if Morgan rejected her once he found out that she was pregnant by a man not her husband. She was probably telling herself that Morgan would accept the child as his own, if only to save face and avoid scandal—but it was just as likely that the illegitimate offspring of Catherine and himself would be every bit as much an outcast as he was.

He might even declare that he wouldn't have any child of Bramwell's in the house, even though he or she would be just as much a Collins as they would be were the child his own. However, Bramwell was also certain that Morgan suspected that the perfect revenge on his despised cousin would be for him to accept and raise the latter's child as his own, growing up with all his true father had been denied.

She could also have married Morgan simply to prove she could do it—purely for spite, no matter how many times he had tried to stop her. Whatever the case, she was out of his life, if not his heart...and it was his duty to make Daphne as happy as possible, even if he wasn't- even if he had to pretend that she was Catherine in order to perform sexually.

As Bramwell had expected, Daphne readily accepted his proposal and they made arrange-ments to marry at the earliest possible time. He would have Quentin as his best man and Daphne chose her sister as Matron of Honor. The only other persons to attend the simple ceremony at the Old House would be the minister and Josette, Bramwell's mother. It would be held in the drawing room, and he would wear the same suit his father had worn to marry his mother. Daphne had chosen to wear her late mother's wedding gown and veil.

Naturally Catherine did all she could to discourage her sister from marrying Bramwell upon finding out about it, but to no avail. All that mattered to the infatuated girl was the fact that she was to marry the man she loved. Of course, deep down Daphne knew her bridegroom was marrying her simply to get back at Catherine, yet told herself that Bramwell would eventually learn to care for her—if she loved him enough. She was enough of a young, idealistic, dyed-in-the-wool romantic to believe in the old adage, "Love conquers all."

Josette also questioned her son's sudden decision to marry Daphne and had asked him point-blank if he loved her. He had said yes, too quickly—and she knew that he couldn't possibly be telling her the truth. Anything was possible, however, so she prayed for Daphne's sake as well as Bramwell's that he would eventually learn to love her. Until then, it would be pain- ful and difficult for the poor child to have to live with the fact that even as much as she loved her husband, his heart belonged to another. She vowed to do all she could to help facilitate matters, but even at that could only do so much.

Even now, the younger woman recalled her sister's last words about how she would ruin her life if she married Bramwell. Daphne's hazel eyes had almost literally shot sparks in Cath- erine's direction as she tartly replied, "Oh, really? Stop trying to run my life, Catherine! Stop patronizing me, and most of all, stop treating me like a stupid child! I know _exactly_ what _I'm_ doing. And incidentally, Bramwell's not the one who ruined your life. You did that to your-self. If any marriage is a colossal mistake, it's yours! At least _I'm_ marrying for the right reasons. All you seem to care about is money and social position!"

Daphne swung about on her heels and headed for the door of Catherine's room, Catherine following close behind. "And just look where your gold-digging has gotten you. Miserable...and don't try to deny it. You can't stand to see me marry Bramwell because he represents all you once had, but threw away because status and wealth matter more to you than love. Well, you deserve everything you've got, dear sister. One thing is for certain—I intend to give Bramwell so much love and attention that he'll soon forget he ever knew you!"

With that, the younger woman had flounced smartly out of the room, slamming the door on her sister's continued protests.

Catherine sighed, knowing that nothing she said was going to change her sister's mind. Arguing with her was a lost cause. It only made her all the more stubborn and determined to have her way. She could only hope that Daphne didn't end up neglected, disillusioned and heartbroken. However, she herself was far too stubborn to admit that all Daphne had said about her own marriage was all too accurate—at least not publicly.

Nor did she like to think that her younger, more sheltered sister could have learned more of life, gained more inborn wisdom in her bare 23 years on earth than she herself had in nearly thirty. In the meantime, it was necessary to help prepare Daphne for her wedding...and even if she had to bite her tongue to do it, Catherine vowed not to say anything which would further antagonize her sister. Daphne would soon learn Bramwell's true nature for herself.

Within two hours, all the necessary people had gathered in the gaily decorated Old House drawing room. Pink roses and ribbons were everywhere. Quentin had Daphne's ring on his right pinky for safekeeping and both men wore pink roses at their lapels. He had even consented to walk Daphne down the aisle, since her and Catherine's parents—particularly their father, Dr. Elias Harridge—were long deceased, giving her over to Bramwell as a surrogate father.

She was ready by the time he went to fetch her. Catherine answered the door, clad in an old- rose colored, sleeveless and off-the-shoulder, ruffled and Empire-waisted, lace-trimmed dress; deep pink roses adorned her upswept blonde curls. But even as beautiful as Catherine looked, it was Daphne who was the true vision of loveliness. Her wedding dress fit as though it had been made for her; the bodice and sleeves molded to her young and very feminine body like a second skin.

The waist tapered to a point and the satin skirt was full, billowing out with three lacy petti-coats so she could walk comfortably. Queen Anne lace covered the bodice and sleeves, and the scalloped collar was held up with tiny pearl buttons at her throat. The chapel-length veil was held in place with a headdress adorned with pink roses, her dark shoulder-length hair falling attractively over the white lace of her gown.

Daphne's dainty hands held a bouquet of pink roses mixed with lilies-of-the-valley, all held together with pink ribbons. Quentin could only hope that his cousin would soon realize what a gem he was getting, and how beautiful his bride was, both inside and out.

The traditional bridal items were as follows: something old—her mother's wedding dress and veil; something new—a pearl necklace she had bought and worn especially for the wedding; something borrowed-Bram's ring (Josette had loaned her her husband's ring), and something blue—the lacy chemise Daphne wore under her gown.

"Are you ladies ready?" Quentin asked with a smile.

Catherine nodded, returning the smile. He then moved to join Daphne, offering her his right arm, which she took. Her left hand rested lightly on the sleeve of his suit coat. By the time the three reached the drawing room, Josette Collins was seated near her son, her long silver hair up in large curls. She wore her best burgundy lace dress, a large jasmine flower in full bloom gracing her left shoulder. Bramwell's left hand was on his mother's right shoulder and her left hand rested over his.

He didn't look up until Quentin and Daphne had nearly reached them...then in spite of himself, felt a strong surge of desire for his bride. The promise of her youthful but thoroughly feminine curves inflamed him almost beyond control, and he vowed to teach her all that physical love between husband and wife entailed as soon as they were alone long enough.

Moments later Quentin relinquished Daphne to her bridegroom; the couple moved to stand in front of the minister as Quentin and Catherine took their accustomed places, the latter carrying a smaller but otherwise identical version of the bridal bouquet. The minister then opened his Bible and quoted 1st Corinthians 13 in its entirety before reciting the traditional vows...with some minor changes.

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today in the sight of God and this company to join this man and this woman in holy matrimony. If there is anyone here who does not believe this marriage should take place, let them speak now or forever hold their peace."

Both of the couple shot a brief glance at Catherine, but it was the dangerous look in Bram-well's dark eyes which checked her tongue; her mouth had opened to speak, but no words had come out and she had soon snapped it closed again.

"Very well, we shall continue. Bramwell Jonathan Collins, do you take this woman, Daphne Elizabeth Harridge, to be your lawfully wedded wife, to love, honor and cherish for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, forsaking all others for as long as you both shall live?"

As the minister spoke, Quentin handed Daphne's ring to Bramwell and the latter prepared to place it on her finger, which was waiting and ready to receive it. "I do," came Bramwell's voice, clear and distinct, as if he wanted to assure everyone present of his honorable inten-tions—whether they were or not. "And with this ring I thee wed—and bestow upon thee my name and all my worldly goods." Once the ring had been placed on Daphne's slender finger, the minister turned to address her.

"Daphne Elizabeth Harridge, do you take this man, Bramwell Jonathan Collins, to be your lawfully wedded husband, to love, honor and cherish for better or worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, forsaking all others for as long as you both shall live?"

Daphne looked up into her groom's handsome face, her eyes shining with the deep love she bore him. "I do," she returned softly but firmly and distinctly.

"Is this a double-ring ceremony?" the minister then inquired.

Daphne nodded, reaching for the larger but otherwise identical ring Catherine reluctantly held out to her—Bramwell's father's ring—then placed it on her own groom's finger. "With this ring, I thee wed...and hereby claim thee, Bramwell Jonathan Collins, as my lawfully wedded husband, for now and as long as we both shall live."

Once she had done so, the couple faced the minister again. The latter looked at them both and smiled, then said, "By the power vested in me by the Commonwealth of Maine, I hereby pronounce Bramwell Collins and Daphne Harridge man and wife. Bramwell, you may kiss your bride."

Bramwell then moved closer to his new wife, needing no further encouragement to do so than the love shining from her eyes. He bestowed upon her a long, delicious kiss, with the sensual promise of more to come later. _Take that, Catherine, _he thought smugly as he passionately pressed Daphne's young sweetness close to him—and was pleased when she responded in kind, but was even more so to catch Catherine wincing and closing her eyes in pain to blot out the sight.

_Now you know how I feel when Morgan has kissed you! And I hope you drive yourself mad picturing us in your mind tonight as you lie next to your cold fish of a husband...provided you even share his bed at all! One thing for sure—my marriage to Daphne is definitely not going to be in name only. If I have anything to say in the matter, she will bear me a son by this time next year!_

Both participants of the kiss were breathless and flushed by the time they came up for air. A short time later, they were hugged, kissed and congratulated within an inch of their lives by all present...yet it was Josette Collins who was the most vocal, and even then only to her son and new daughter-in-law.

"Congratulations, _mon cher fil_—and every happiness to you and your new wife." She hugged and kissed him warmly. "If only your father could have lived to see this day." She then spoke to Daphne and repeated her actions. "Congratulations, _mon cher fille_. Welcome to the family."

"Thank you, Mother," said a slightly flustered Bramwell.

"Thank you, Josette," Daphne returned. "This day would never have happened without you."

"You are most welcome, my child," she answered with a smile. "And I am sure you will make my son very happy."

"I fully intend to," declared Daphne, giving her new husband a loving smile as she squeezed his nearest arm.

Bramwell made himself smile back and pat her hand before raising it to his lips to kiss it as well, making sure that Catherine saw him do it. Not long afterward, the women hustled Daphne off to change into her going-away outfit. (It had been decided to hold the reception after the couple returned from their honeymoon.)

Within the hour Daphne, Josette and Catherine returned—then shortly thereafter, Daphne threw her bouquet. It landed in Josette's arms, but despite the old tradition, all knew that she was unlikely to ever marry again. Even at that, Josette had every intention of saving at least one rose and lily from the bridal bouquet to press into her lace-covered prayer book.

After that, all that was left to do was see the newlyweds on their way. The small group of guests and wedding party had thrown handfuls of rice as the couple headed for the waiting carriage, courtesy of Quentin, which would take Mr. and Mrs. Bramwell Collins to the honey- moon suite of the Collinsport Inn for the weekend, then return them to the Old House to begin their married life.

Once the couple was alone, Bram slipped an arm around his wife's slender waist; she sighed and snuggled close to him, cradling her head on his shoulder and resting her right hand over his in the privacy of the enclosed carriage. He felt the silkiness of Daphne's hair on his cheek and smelled the fragrance of roses, which seemed to be in a soft, scented cloud all around her.

Despite his feelings for Catherine, Bramwell could not resist another lingering kiss on his wife's tempting lips. As they reluctantly parted, Daphne could still taste the sweetness and passion of her husband's kiss on her lips. She hoped it was a good omen for the coming evening, silently vowing to enjoy her wedding night to the fullest despite the sobering fact that her new husband would have someone else in his mind and heart even as he held her in his arms and they made love.

It was for this reason that Daphne concluded that Bramwell was a very passionate man and she had every intention of surprising him with the depth and intensity of her own at the first opportunity. Most importantly, she planned to go on surprising him—not only once, but over and over again, throughout their married life.

Upon arrival at the Collinsport Inn, the newlyweds checked in, then a bellboy carried their luggage as they followed him to the honeymoon suite on the second floor. When they got there, a smiling Bramwell swept his young wife into his arms; her hands were locked around his neck and love shone from her eyes as he carried her over the threshold and into the room.

If one had asked him, the bellboy would likely have said that as far as he could tell, the couple seemed like typical newlyweds; nothing unusual or different about them—at least not at first glance. If you'd told him they were putting on an act, he wouldn't have believed it for a moment. At least not on the part of the bride. He knew a woman in love when he saw one; he couldn't be mistaken about that...but couldn't have said for sure about the husband, although the man acted happy enough.

He had never met Bramwell Collins, although he certainly knew of the Collins family. The man definitely had the look of a Collins about him, even though he was not as well-dressed as the other Collins males he had seen, despite the fact that the man was obviously wearing his best—possibly his only—formal suit. Whatever the case was with this couple, he had neither the time nor inclination to dwell on it. Other people's private lives were none of his business...unless they happened to involve him in some way.

However, he said nothing to either of them, simply carried their luggage inside and deposited it on the floor near the foot of the bed. After Bramwell had set a radiant Daphne on her feet again, he fished in his pocket for a tip. For him, a dollar was an unusually generous tip, since he didn't often have any substantial amount of money in his possession—but that would change if things worked out for him regarding the ship's cargo in which he had invested his life's savings.

He would then be as rich as, if not richer, than any of his high-brow relatives. Certainly a lot better off than his late, lamented father had been. He had been told that if the ship came in within two weeks with all her cargo intact, his fortunes could and likely would multiply a thousandfold and he wouldn't have to subsist on the reluctant charity of his more affluent kin. He had always hated having to depend on them, especially when they had always thrown it up to him with such infuriating regularity.

It was bad enough that he had to endure it, but his mother had done nothing to deserve such treatment. If only for Josette's sake, Bramwell was determined to make his fortune so that he could set her up as she deserved. Barnabas Collins had died when Bramwell was but a teenager, around fourteen. There had been no money to send him to school. It was all Josette could do to keep a roof over their heads, clothes on their backs and food in their bellies by acting as a private tutor to various students of well-to-do families until Barnabas' Uncle Justin, his father Joshua's brother—the only one of their rich relatives who had ever been decent to them—had taken them in and set them up in the Old House, giving them an ample, if not generous, monthly allowance to live on.

Only then, two years later, had Bramwell gotten more formal education. Up to that point, Josette Collins had taught her son to read, write and do mathematics herself when she wasn't teaching the other students. She had also taught French, her native language, as well as history, geography and English grammar, since English was his main language.

Bramwell had discovered a love of reading at a young age and Josette had shamelessly indulged him as much as she could—not to mention an uncanny knack for spotting true antiques. The cargo of the aforementioned ship, the _Lucky Lady_, had in fact been both a shipment of rare first-edition hardback books, some of which were even personally autographed by their authors. There were also several rare and ornate pieces of furniture on the cargo manifest.

If the designated buyers paid the asking prices for the merchandise, he would take a substantial share of the ensuing profits. At least three million dollars would be his free and clear, and he would at last be able to support his family and himself in style. Meanwhile, he had his wedding night ahead of him and intended to make it a memorable one.

**A/N: This is as far as I've typed in so far. Updates will come as soon as I can finish them. Reviews and _constructive_ criticism welcome.**


	2. Wedding Night: Among Other Things

**A/N: This relates Bramwell and Daphne's wedding night, among other things, and it's rather ... shall I say mature, so if you don't like that sort of thing, give it a miss. Otherwise, enjoy!**

After coming back to reality, Bramwell looked around and noted that Daphne had her bag open and was getting out her toiletries and the negligee she had bought especially for tonight. Despite his feelings for Catherine, the sight of Daphne's youth and femininity inflamed his desire once again and he knew he had to possess her, make her his own, before the evening got too much older.

He moved over behind her and slipped his arms around her, pressing himself tightly against her so that she was able to feel his arousal. He also kissed her left ear, blew into it, then nibbled the lobe before moving to kiss her throat and neck. Daphne moaned in pleasure, the feel of her husband's hands and arms all she had ever dreamed of...but she knew his desire was not for her. Even as much as she wanted to, she could not allow him to continue, not and still be able to resist him, even for a moment.

"Bramwell, please don't touch me like that. It's hard enough to resist you as it is." Her voice was a mixture of love and pain.

"Don't touch you? What kind of thing is that to say to your husband on our wedding night?"

He once again moved her hair, this time to kiss the nape of her neck. She shivered deliciously at his action, feeling lightning bolts of desire shoot out from the point of contact to all points on her body, choosing to end in her most sensitive parts. She once again stiffened and attempted to extricate herself.

"Bramwell, stop it! You know you don't really want me, so stop pretending that you do. I'm not the one in your mind and heart."

"Perhaps not," he purred. "But you _are_ the one in my arms, and soon to be in my bed...in _our_ bed." He then turned her around to pull her close and claim her lips in a fiery kiss, soon pry-ing her lips open to find her unbelievably hot, sweet tongue. Their undulating tongues dueled for an interminable time, then he began to undress her, first unbuttoning her blouse and untying her blue lace chemise to bare her small but perfectly formed breasts with deep pink nipples to his passionate gaze.

Her breath quickened and her pulse rate doubled when his dark head lowered and his mouth found one of her breasts, licking and suckling the sweetly hard nipples—first the right, then the left. Daphne's knees turned to jelly as she arched her back and held her husband's head in place. Only Bramwell's arms holding her up prevented her from falling at his feet.

"Bramwell, my darling...my darling..."

"Daphne, Daphne...you taste so sweet. I doubt I'll ever get enough of you..."

Only reluctantly did he release her, then moved the bag off the bed before taking her in his arms again and lowering her to the bed, the two of them lying across it. He continued to kiss her deeply even as his hands lifted her skirts to her waist and made short work of her petti- coats and undergarments, pulling them off to drop them on the floor. He then settled onto her after opening his shirt and pants, resting his weight on his forearms and knees, then shoved the latter down further to release his painfully hard and deliciously throbbing arousal from its confinement, his nose and lips nuzzling between her bare breasts upon spreading her slender white legs apart to better accommodate him.

Daphne no longer wanted to resist; she couldn't. She had wanted him for so long. In fact, she had been lost the moment he touched her. All that mattered now was that Bramwell continue to kiss and caress her, then ultimately possess her. Even the fact of his love for her sister was no longer important.

"Oh my God, Daphne..._Daphne_..." He settled himself further between her legs upon turning her beneath him again after they had turned on their sides, reaching a hand to stroke her painfully sensitive center. She moaned and cried out even as he brought her to a mind-boggling climax, bucking and writhing beneath him. He could scarcely believe how hot, tight and wet she was.

It wasn't much longer before he positioned himself at her opening and prepared to thrust inside. Bramwell sensed that his bride was a virgin, as every woman should be on her wedding night. No doubt his initial penetration would be painful for her, but he was determined that there would be only pleasure for them both after that, even as he tried to warn her of what to expect.

"Daphne, I can't wait much longer. I must be inside you soon—but must also warn you that it's going to hurt when you lose your virginity. I'll be as gentle as I can, but can make no guarantees..." His voice trailed off as he moved so that the head of his painfully hard cock slid into her sweetly tight, but hot and slick opening. He went as far as he dared, until he felt her flinch. "Wrap your legs around my hips. I'll try to make it one quick thrust. The pain should only be momentary. If not, I'll have to do it more than once. In that event, there won't be much I can do. Get ready now—brace yourself...I'm coming—_now_!"

With that, Bramwell thrust his hips forward sharply, feeling something give deep inside his wife's body even as she cried out softly in pain and clung tightly to him with both her arms and legs...then he felt himself sink hilt-deep within her. The couple lay thusly joined for a time, in order that Daphne accustom herself to the feel of him inside her and his body atop hers. Bramwell then began to move again, thrusting his hips back and forth several times, harder and faster with each passing moment, until his pelvis was molded to hers. He moaned with steadily increasing ecstasy as he felt his orgasm rapidly approaching and sensed he would be unable to stop himself for a long time once it arrived.

When climax was imminent, Bram jammed himself as far as he could get inside Daphne's body before letting himself go. He began to kiss her passionately once again until he tensed a against her, flooding her body with his seed. A part of him hoped that Daphne would become pregnant from this encounter. It would serve Catherine right for denying him both herself and their child. Oh, but that would be such sweet revenge...

The initial pain of penetration was unbelievable, but Daphne bit her lip hard and held her husband tightly until the pain passed and become a warm, liquid feeling. Her bridegroom's arms were so strong yet gentle around her, his warm, bare body so wonderfully delicious against her own and his breath hot and sweet on her bare skin. Even so, she knew who he really wanted and he couldn't convince her otherwise—but that didn't stop her from wanting him, loving him, hungering for his kisses, his touch, his body.

Once Bramwell had recovered, he moved his wife to lie full-length on the bed, her dark hair spread around her face on the pillow like a halo. Daphne allowed her husband to undress her entirely and felt renewed desire as she lay watching him fully undress. His body was so incredibly beautiful...

She had intended to wear her white peignoir tonight, but Bramwell had been too sweetly insistent, far too passionate, to allow her to do so. He seemed to prefer his women naked. His wife, too, if tonight was any indication. And considering what they had just shared, she hardly minded. There should be other nights when she would have the chance, with any luck. For the time being, all that mattered was being here with him, in his bed, in his arms, loving and being loved by him—if only physically.

Once Bram rejoined his wife, he slid his arms around her from behind and pressed against her, his hardness resting between her sweetly rounded buttocks as he molded himself to her spoon-fashion. He rested his head on Daphne's bare shoulder, hands moving to cradle the warm rounded softness of her breasts.

"Would you be...agreeable to more sexual intimacy, my little tigress?" he crooned into her ear.

"Most definitely," she returned emphatically as she moved back to snuggle closer to him.

"Then we will do so, little wife. In the meantime, we must rest so that we will be fresh for our next interlude. Sleep well."

"Good night, my love," she whispered. "And thank you for the most wonderful night of my life."

A short time later she felt his head grow heavy on her back and knew he had fallen asleep—but remained molded against her all night long, his hands still cradling her breasts when she awakened the next morning.

On the morning of her first full day of married life, Daphne awoke hungry for a good, hearty breakfast—but her insatiable new bridegroom had other ideas. "Bramwell, don't you think we should have breakfast first?" she asked.

He made no verbal reply; instead, he pressed himself close to her, reaching to fondle her nipples once again even as he kissed the nape of her neck. She shivered at the feel of his lips on her skin...then one of his hands wandered south and slipped between her legs, stroking her intimately until she cried out in pleasure. He then turned her over and kissed her passionately, their tongues entwining as intricately as their bodies before he finally spoke.

"You are the only thing I'm hungry for at the moment." Bramwell's husky voice crooned to her before effectively silencing his wife by claiming her lips once again even as he opened her legs and positioned himself before passionately thrusting inside. Dephne locked her arms and legs around him even as his actions made her forget her need for food—indeed, everything but his nearness, for a long time to come.

It was only some hours later, after resting up from this last interlude that Daphne and Bram-well rose from their honeymoon bed to bathe and dress before heading down to the Inn's dining room for a late lunch. Of course, considering the time (four p.m.), it was more like an early dinner, which befitted both their large libidos and equally large appetites for food.

That night was no different, but this time Daphne took the initiative in their lovemaking. At one point she even sat astride her husband as he lay on his back on their bed, impaling her-self on his iron-hard shaft. Her hips moved deliciously and her small but perfect breasts bounced entrancingly as he held onto the bedposts. This time it was he who moaned and writhed beneath her even as he thrust upward inside her several times.

"Daphne...oh, my God..._Daphne_!" He finally cried out in pleasure, once again filling her body with his hot seed. This was what finally enervated them once and for all. After it was over, Daphne fell down limply beside her husband and he gathered her close to kiss her in mixed gratitude and satiation.

She smiled tenderly, but with a wickedness in her eyes that he had not thought her capable of. She said as if reading his mind, "Oh, I assure you that I _am_, beloved—but only here and now, and only with you! By the way, wouldn't you say that I have proven myself every bit as passionate as my sister?"

Bramwell smiled and put a finger to his wife's lips, which Daphne promptly kissed. "She is unimportant now. All that matters is this moment, you and I, and what we feel for each other." He then kissed her deeply one last time and said, "I didn't think it possible, little wife, but you have actually worn me out! In which case, we're going to need considerably more sleep before we return home in the morning."

The couple had just enough energy to snuggle close to one another, arms around each other, before falling asleep. Daphne smiled inwardly at her husband's unexpected but most welcome compliments, wishing that Catherine could have heard them. She was also certain that her sister's night with her own husband had not been nearly as active nor as much fun as her own.

Mainly because Morgan Collins was the original cold fish...and she seriously questioned her sister's sanity, not to mention her taste, in dumping Bramwell for _him_. Of course, that was all the better for her, since she could show him, show _all_ of them, what it was like for a man to be loved by a woman who truly appreciated him.

Meanwhile, back at Collinwood, the rest of the Collins clan was gathered in the drawing room, all discussing the wedding which had taken place the previous day. Quentin Collins was sitting in his favorite chair by the fireplace, a brandy at his elbow. On the adjoining couch sat Flora and Melanie, with Kendrick Young in a straight-backed chair next to the latter, his paramour. Morgan and Catherine were on the other couch facing Flora and Melanie; Julia had elected to stand on Flora's right, one hand resting on the back of the couch.

"Daphne looked radiant, don't you think?" Quentin remarked before taking a swig of brandy and setting his glass down again. "I've never seen her so happy."

"She surely did," Josette Collins agreed, situated in another straight-backed chair next to Catherine. "I never saw anyone so much in love." Josette only hoped that her son would eventually feel the same toward his wife as his mother knew Daphne felt toward him.

"She's simply a lovesick fool," Morgan opined. "Bramwell is going to use her, abuse her and eventually break her heart. Just you wait and see."

Catherine gave her husband a cold glare, purely out of loyalty to her sister, even though she secretly agreed with him, believing she knew how Bramwell would treat Daphne, simply on the basis of how he had supposedly treated her...and wishing she had been able to talk some sense into her. Since she had been unable to, Catherine could only pray that things would work out between Daphne and Bramwell. If he didn't treat her right, she vowed she would take him apart and take pleasure in doing it, no matter what the depth of her lingering feel-ings for him.

Daphne had always been stubborn; Catherine didn't want her sister to have to learn the hard way, as she had...but it seemed that there was nothing she could do to stop it. She knew also that it would be a long time before Bramwell forgave her for marrying Morgan—if he ever did. He was not one to forget or forgive easily, and with a part of her she couldn't blame him for seeking revenge on her. She simply disliked the idea of Bramwell using Daphne's feelings for him in order to exact revenge on her, Catherine, for rejecting him.

"Morgan, that is a most unkind thing to say," Melanie put in. "Daphne is a grown woman. Who she chooses to marry is her own business, however any of us may feel about it." Melanie reached to squeeze Kendrick's hand and smiled tenderly at him.

"Forgive me. I always seem to forget that the truth isn't always kind," Morgan returned in a condescending tone. "I simply believe that Daphne has made the most colossal mistake of her life—and am sure that I'm not the only one who thinks so, even if they aren't saying so." He looked pointedly at his wife, then Julia, who nodded in agreement.

"Even at that, the least we can do is be civil to them, however we may feel about the situation. It's not our place to judge them or tell them how to live," Flora opined, taking a sip of her favorite apple-cinnamon tea in a delicate, rose-decorated porcelain cup which she held with two fingers and the rest extended, as befitted an aristocrat—as befitted a Collins.

"Mother, you've always been far too much of an idealistic dreamer, far too much of a dyed-in-the-wool romantic for your own good." This came from Morgan.

"And you're being entirely too pessimistic, Morgan," his mother retorted. "For all we know, Daphne and Bramwell could turn out to be the happiest couple of all of us."

"I hope so, if only for Daphne's sake," Morgan reluctantly conceded, never having been able to win an argument with his mother. "I just can't help having my doubts, however, considering the troubles Catherine and I endured because of Bramwell before we finally managed to get married."

He locked gazes with his wife, then looked around at everyone else in the room. All others present knew what he was referring to, the several times Bramwell had attempted to pre- vent their marriage from taking place. The only way they had managed to do it was by sneaking off together and doing it without telling anyone until after it was over.

"I can understand why he would do it," Josette remarked. "After all, he has loved Catherine for many years and was hoping to marry her himself one day." Josette took a deep breath before continuing. "However, since both she and Bramwell have been compelled to choose otherwise, I believe it best that we simply bide our time, see how matters stand between Bramwell and Daphne once they return from their honeymoon and settle down into married life."

Her tone was quiet and firm, brooking no argument, even though there were those who wanted to. In fact, it was fortunate that Morgan Collins had chosen to remain silent this time. Otherwise Catherine would have jumped to her sister's defense, regardless of her own opinion regarding the marriage—something she still saw as a marriage of convenience on Bramwell's part and was convinced that he saw as a means to an end—that end being revenge on her, Catherine. She was also certain that he would do anything and everything within his power to accomplish that end, even if it meant ensnaring the totally smitten Daphne in his tangled web of love and deceit.

"I agree," Quentin finally concurred. "After all, it's what we would expect them to do for us in the same situation."

"Which reminds me—we should finish up the preparations for the wedding reception, since Bramwell and Daphne are due back tomorrow."

Flora stood up, her actions prompting the other women who were seated to follow her, even the ones who disagreed with Daphne's decision to marry Bramwell. This left only Quentin, Morgan and Kendrick in the Collinwood drawing room upon the departure of the Collins females.

By themselves, of course, the three men found little to discuss—so Kendrick eventually excused himself to go join the women, since he and Melanie were the next couple due to get married and he wanted to have some idea what to expect at their upcoming nuptials.

"So, Quentin, when is Samantha due to return from Boston?" Morgan asked his brother after Kendrick had left the room in search of Melanie and the others.

"Last I heard, tomorrow afternoon," Quentin replied, taking another swig of brandy.

"Is she bringing Tad back with her?" Morgan wondered, aware of the illness which had prompted the boy's being taken to Boston to be examined and treated by a specialist in his particular illness. He had been there for the past several weeks and Samantha had gone to Boston to be with her son, keeping his father informed of the boy's progress.

However, her last communication had been nearly a week ago, so he had no way of knowing what Tad's current condition was. He could only hope that she would have some good news of him upon her return. As it was, all Quentin could do was shake his head in response to his brother's inquiry.

"He's still not quite well enough. Samantha said it'll probably be at least another two weeks."

"Then why doesn't she stay with him until he's fully recovered and bring him back then, instead if making another unnecessary round trip to Boston again?"

Quentin shrugged. "I have no idea—but I _have _learned that it's easiest to just let Sam do as she sees fit, at least where Tad is concerned. The last time I disagreed with her, she nearly cut me off at the knees. One thing you must never forget, Morgan, is to _never _come between a mother and her child, even if you're the father of that child."

"I'll keep it in mind," Morgan promised, although he was privately dubious as to the likeli-hood of himself and Catherine having children any time soon. He knew his older brother was simply trying to give him the benefit of his experience as a husband and father, but despite Catherine's claim that she very much desired children, he had so far seen no indica- tion that she wanted to take the first, most important step toward achieving that goal—regular physical joinings.

Instead, she was constantly putting him off, claiming either fatigue or a headache, if not both. Sometimes he would even swear that she looked physically ill, although she always insisted she was fine whenever he happened to mention it. He was frankly getting tired of being kept at arm's length and intended to give her an ultimatum—either they take steps to have the children she claimed to want or annul their marriage.

But Morgan didn't like the idea of having Catherine once again free to pursue Bramwell, not after all the trouble he had gone to to win her...and never mind that Bramwell was married to her sister now. This was getting ridiculous, and he intended to see that it ended once and for all—whatever he had to do.

"Well, let's go see if we can do anything to help the women," Quentin suggested, setting down his now-empty brandy glass and standing up to stretch, getting the kinks out of his back before heading for the drawing room doors. After a brief hesitation, Morgan finally sighed, shrugged and followed his brother out to join him and Kendrick in seeking out the womenfolk, unable to think of anything else to do to pass the time until bedtime and his intended talk with Catherine.


	3. Back to Collinwood, Both of Them

As it turned out, Bramwell and Daphne decided to sneak back into the Old House quietly and not tell the rest of the family they had returned early until the following morning in order to have one night of uninterrupted privacy in their home, to continue as they had while staying at the Collinsport Inn. Bramwell didn't care whether or not there was a reception for them; what mattered most to him was being alone with his new wife.

If there was one, he supposed he would have to endure it for Daphne's sake…and best of all, there would be another chance to drive Catherine crazy by his being very attentive to her sister. He personally preferred that they simply be given any gifts and good wishes without a lot of fuss and bother. Besides, why would they go to such trouble for the Collins black sheep, even if he had just gotten married? The newlyweds checked out of the Collinsport Inn rather late and Bramwell had called for the carriage Quentin had authorized to take himself and Daphne back home. Because of the hour and the schedule change, however, it cost him the last cent he had…but he considered Daphne and his chance to romance her in front of Catherine well worth the extra expense.

They arrived at the Old House around three a.m. and had Andrew Stokes, the groom and carriage driver, take the rig back to the Collinwood stable, then come back to assist them with their luggage before going home for the night. Fortunately he understood and waved off Bramwell's apology at being unable to give him a proper tip. "No need t' apologize, Mr. Bramwell. Ah understand. Ye jus' go on t' bed now, sir, an' keep y'r cute little filly happy."

Andrew tipped his hat to Daphne after congratulating the newlyweds; she nodded and smiled gratefully in his direction, then picked up her overnight bag while Bramwell and Andrew got the rest of their luggage inside and upstairs to what would be their bedroom from now on. She followed him into the room and closed the door behind them as Bramwell and Andrew quietly set the cases down, then the latter left. Bramwell then struck a match and lit the bedside lamp while Daphne turned down the bed. He also made a fire to warm up the room so they could undress - but while doing so, he got a most exciting, even lascivious, idea. He would propose that he and Daphne make love in front of the fire before going to sleep.

As Bramwell had surmised, his wife was all too willing…and he loved how the fire played on her long, loose hair, her bare skin and the intriguing shadows it made in certain intimate spots on her body. Once they had finished, she curled up like a cat next to him on the rug before the fire, pillows and two blankets serving as a makeshift bed. He curled around her spoon-fashion and they soon fell into a deep sleep, not waking until late the next morning.

Morgan Collins was due to be every bit as surprised as the rest of his family once they learned of Bramwell and Daphne's earlier-than-expected return, not to mention their desire not to have a reception - but for a different reason. He had expected Catherine to put him off yet again with illness or something, yet when he finally found her, she was in their bedroom dressed in a filmy, sky-blue negligée festooned with lace, her golden hair unbound and falling in cascades well past her shoulders - almost to her waist, in fact.

"Catherine?" He was totally flabbergasted, but more please than he could ever remem- ber being. Maybe he was actually going to get some action tonight for a change: and with luck, from this time on and not only for this one night. He had never seen her look so beautiful or inviting…

"Morgan, darling. I have been waiting for you for an eternity. Please come to bed. I need you."

He saw her sincerity in her eyes, but even that masked desperation - or more specifically, her need to seduce him enough over the next few weeks in order to be able to pass off the child in her womb as his. Catherine could only hope that the child wasn't a boy who resembled Bramwell. She would prefer a girl who looked like her or even twins. There had not been twins on either side of the Harridge or Collins families that she knew of, but stranger things had happened, so anything was possible. A moment later Morgan put his arms around his wife and held her tightly, closely, while kissing her passionately - more so than she'd ever imagined him capable of. It was some time before the pair released each other and he said what he needed to say: "Catherine, I must speak to you about something very important."

He was unable to speak further since her uncharacteristically enthusiastic lips cut off additional speech for a time. "Can we not talk later, my love? I want you so much."

"Catherine…" Morgan's voice trailed off as she began to undress him. First she unbuttoned his coat, then dropped it on the floor before she untied his cravat and repeated her action, reaching to open his shirt and kiss and lick her way down his chest. He gasped in astonished pleasure as her fingers teased his nipples upon dropping the shirt to the floor - then her lips and tongue found one and suckled it. Before he could recover from that, she backed him up to the bed and pushed him onto it before her hands found the opening to his trousers and pulled them and his underwear down to reveal his deliciously throbbing, iron-hard cock standing at attention against his hairy belly.

His pants were taken down to his knees and Catherine dropped her negligée before proceeding to mount him, both partners moaning and writhing as she felt his hardness fill her. He wasn't quite as large as Bramwell, but would suffice for her purposes. Once it registered with Morgan what his wife was doing, he was more than happy to go along with her wishes …and it was a cinch that it was the only way he would last long enough to satisfy them both. He finally took her waist in his hands and held her in place as she moved up and down on him, loving the delightful friction of her tight, wet passage on his swollen member as well as the way her breasts bounced, the rosebud nipples hard and prominent. He could hardly wait to feel them in his hands or better yet, his mouth - but now all that mattered was their imminent orgasm. His back arched and he pushed up inside her as far as he could, feeling his hot seed enter her body - and he couldn't stop for a long time. Both cried out at their all-but-simultaneous climaxes, an exhausted Catherine falling limply onto the bed beside her equally enervated husband.

Once Morgan got enough energy to speak, he said, "Catherine…my God…that was incredible!"

"And there's more where that came from," she assured him with a wicked smile. "We've got a lot of time to make up for."

/You can say that again!/ Morgan thought, enjoying the feel of his wife's warm, bare body and the scent of both her perfume and her womanhood. It wasn't until nearly morning that the pair actually got under the covers of their bed. Upon waking in the morning, they made passionate love yet again - then fell back asleep, not waking again until late afternoon. Just wait until he told Quentin about this! Morgan was sure that it had been simply an erotic dream he had had until he'd awakened the first time and found Catherine in bed beside him, naked as he was. How could they ever have taken so long to make love? Whatever the reason, what mattered the most to him was that they'd finally done so - and he never wanted it to end. He even found himself wondering whether their first child would be a boy or a girl and what he/she would be named…

Later that same day, Morgan did just that as soon as he and Quentin were alone in the drawing room, waiting to be called to dinner. The other man was just as stunned, surprised and incredulous as his brother had been, yet at the same time very pleased for his younger sibling. "I'm very happy for you," Quentin remarked with a touch of envy in his voice. "I know how long you've waited for last night." It was more than he could say for himself, that was for sure. There seemed to be little between himself and Samantha these days except a legal tie - and their son Tad. Their mutual love for the boy was the only thing they had in common, the only symbol left of the passionate love they had once shared.

Now there only seemed to be an equally passionate hatred on Samantha's part for her erstwhile husband. In fact, she had said more than once that she only stayed with him for their son's sake. Quentin had always believed that it would have been better for the boy to come from a broken home than have to live in one - but in this day and age, once one was married, they stayed married, and never mind if they were happy together or not. Appearances were what mattered most, social position and the union of prominent families.

If they wished love outside said marriage, it was done discreetly and many times with the full knowledge and approval of one's marital partner, who was all too often doing the same thing themselves. It would not have surprised Quentin at all if he eventually learned that Sam had physically betrayed him at least once, possibly more. He hated to think what misery and horror so many hapless, helpless individuals had had to endure because of this barbaric and outdated practice. In his opinion, marriage should be difficult and divorce easy, not vice versa - as was the current situation.

But it was the way things had always been done, and as far as he could tell, it would be the way things would always be done. All the same, he was pleased that there had been such a change of fortune for his brother - and if only for Morgan's sake, he fervently hoped it would continue, for at least one Collins deserved marital happiness, if only for a short while.

And so it did - continue, that was - at least for the next several weeks. Within four weeks after the astounding change in Catherine's actions toward Morgan, she happily announced to one and all that she was pregnant. The proud and happy expectant father in turn announced it to his family; the parents-to-be were duly congratulated and plans begun for a baby shower by Flora Collins. She was soon joined by Melanie, Daphne and even Julia. Even at that (although she had never mentioned it to anyone), Julia still suspected that the child was Bramwell's rather than Morgan's.

Mainly because Catherine had exhibited all the symptoms of pregnancy for at least a month _prior_ to the last four weeks, which was as far along as she claimed she was. Julia was convinced that it was closer to eight or even ten, approximately the time Bramwell had kidnapped Catherine in one of his many attempts to prevent her marriage to Morgan. She even went so far as to make sure that Catherine was aware of her suspicions, but at the same time, Catherine had arranged things in such a way as to make her child seem legitimate. It would avail her nothing to speak - only cause trouble in the family and create a scandal, so Julia remained silent. Besides, she told herself, it was not logical to blame the child for the actions of its parents.

However, as matters turned out, Catherine wasn't the only one who was going to be a mother. Six weeks after her announcement, a radiantly happy Daphne Collins announced that she too was expecting, her unabashedly beaming husband beside her all the way. Yet even in the midst of all the tears, kisses, hugs and congratulations, Bramwell Collins shot a look at his former lover with a mixture of pleasure and smug superiority at having pulled off his own marital charade so magnificently. Catherine finally begged off, pleading nausea and fatigue. Her now most solicitous husband helped her upstairs to their bedroom and saw to it that she was lying down and comfort- able. She was frankly glad for the excuse to get away from Bramwell and the look in his eyes in her direction at Daphne's announcement of her own pregnancy.

Upon seating her on their bed, Morgan removed her shoes and got her situated on the bed. Catherine loosened, then removed her dress and petticoats to put a hot water bottle on her gently rounded belly to ease the cramps and two slices of dry, salted toast to ease the nausea. She even made a mental note to have a private talk with her sister at the earliest opportunity. Morgan even suggested that Catherine put a cold compress on her head since she also seemed feverish, but she insisted that she didn't need it.

Morgan was skeptical but finally left her to rest alone after pulling the blankets over her and putting the lantern out on her side of the bed. He finally rejoined his family downstairs after kissing her good-night. He was glad to have at least seemingly been proven wrong regarding Bramwell and his erstwhile marriage to Daphne. The younger woman had seemed radiantly happy and genuinely enthused about her own pregnancy, although it remained to be seen just what sex Catherine's child would be -– and who he/she would look like. He fervently hoped that it was indeed his child, as she had assured him many times, although it was her strange actions prior to her official announcement that gave him food for thought. But for the time being, what mattered was that Catherine was his wife and that she was going to have a baby. She was his –- and he never intended to ever let her go!

As for Bramwell, he was pleased to see Catherine's reaction, both to his action and her sister's joyous announcement of her own pregnancy. He was even pleased that he had made both sisters pregnant, though only Daphne's child could be publicly acknowledged as his. The other would be assumed to be the child of Morgan and Catherine and treated accordingly. Only he and Catherine would know otherwise. That knowledge was the only fly in the ointment on an otherwise most pleasant and eventful day…yet Bramwell refused to allow it to affect his almost euphoric mood. Either way he would be a father, and that was all that mattered other than the fact that he had once again gotten his revenge, however subtle, on Catherine for her treatment of him and rejection of his love -– all for the sake of money and social position.

He also vowed once his ship came in that he would flaunt his newfound wealth in her face at every opportunity and enjoy every minute of her reactions (that he could see, anyway) –- but make it clear to her that he had no intention of leaving Daphne for greener pastures, as it were. He had virtually everything he wanted already and had no plans to ever change his situation, no matter what Catherine did or said. Let her sweat it out and see how it felt to be the one on the receiving end for a change!

The first chance Catherine got, she decided to grill her sister about the latter's marriage to Bramwell…but if she expected Daphne to "kiss and tell," she was sorely disappointed –- and in spite of herself, Daphne was unable to keep from gloating at the look in her sister's eyes, a mixture of pain and jealousy. However, she refused to allow herself to feel sympathy for Catherine; she was the one who had done it to herself, knowingly and willingly. Whether she had planned it or not, she had made her bed, now she had to lie in it…almost having literally cut off her nose to spite her face, to have been so headstrong and insistent on her own way, spitefully defying Bramwell's objections to run off and marry Morgan –- then accuse him of the same thing she herself had done, by marrying Daphne on the rebound. As the old saying went, "It takes one to know one."

"I also know why you're doing what you're doing to Morgan," the younger woman accused her sister. "You're afraid he'll kick you out on your ear if he learns you're carrying Bramwell's child and not his - so you're doing everything you can to make it seem like it is his, using him just as you believe Bramwell is using me. If only for your child's sake, I hope you can pull it off…but Bramwell doesn't strike me as half as gullible as Morgan seems to be."

"I think I know my husband better than you do," Catherine shot back, stung. "Bramwell, too, for that matter. After all, he was my childhood sweetheart, not yours."

"That is irrelevant, sister dear. Bramwell is mine now and therefore no longer your concern," Daphne retorted. "I strongly suggest that you leave him out of this. After all, it wasn't me who snuck off to marry someone else out of spite, simply for the sake of money and position."

"Oh, really. Then I suppose you're so blissfully happy, that Bramwell is everything you've ever dreamed of –- and that he treats you like a queen," Catherine returned coldly.

"Yes, as a matter of fact," Daphne gleefully confirmed. "I've been enjoying all that you so casually threw away…especially since I've become pregnant."

"You're loving every minute of this, aren't you?" Catherine bit out.

"Immensely. You know, I used to always look up to you -– thought you were like, the smartest person in the world, especially after Mama and Daddy died. But considering how many boneheaded stunts you've pulled in the last few weeks, I've changed my mind. Particularly when the majority of them have simply been to get back at Bramwell for what he supposedly did to you. But as far as I can tell, you deserved every bit of it –- and if there'd been any justice, you'd have gotten worse, for treating him as you have, simply because he doesn't have as much money as the rest of the Collinses. I may be only 'baby sister,' but even I know there are far better things in this world than money and position –- such as a man who truly loves you.

"And Bramwell truly loved you…but the only thing you love is money and position. Otherwise you could never have done what you did to him in order to obtain it. And as I said, I intend to show him how happy he can be with a woman who truly appreciates him for the wonderful, special man he truly is -– love him as you obviously never did; otherwise you could never have let him go!"

"So you believe that, do you?" Catherine threw back. "It sounds to me like he's gotten you so brainwashed that you'd believe anything he said."

"Better to be 'brainwashed' than so blinded by greed and spite that you'd throw away true love with no more thought than when throwing away a soiled handkerchief," Daphne retorted, using the words as verbal arrows which unerringly hit their designated target with devastating impact. "You don't deserve him anyway; you never did. Never appreciated anything he ever did for you!"

If nothing else, it was effective enough to silence Catherine's own caustic tongue. When she spoke again, Daphne's voice was laced with concern when she noted that her sister seemed feverish, since her face was flushed a deep red. "Cath, are you feverish? Would you like a cold, wet washcloth?"

"Yes, thank you," Catherine smiled gratefully.

"Coming right up." Daphne left the room for a time, then returned with a cold, wet washcloth in hand, placing it on her sister's hot forehead. "Would you also like a cold drink? I was going to fix myself one anyway."

"Love one," Catherine told her.

"Put your feet up while you're waiting, Sis. I'll be right back." The younger woman left the room again, returning roughly twenty minutes later with two iced lemonade drinks on a tray, one of which she handed to her sister and the other she kept for herself. She set the tray down on the small table next to her own chair, then re-seated herself. "Feel better now, Cath? You looked terribly ill for a while."

"Yes," Catherine agreed, taking occasional sips of the lemonade as she talked, her swollen feet propped up on a small, overstuffed rose print footstool. "But you haven't mentioned how _you_ feel, Daph. Haven't you felt sick at all?"

"Of course," Daphne assured her sister. "But I'm not as far along as you."

"How's Bramwell taking it?" Catherine asked conversationally.

"How do you think? He's ecstatic –- particularly since he knows he's not going to lose this child to your capricious whims."

"Are you going to start that again?" Catherine almost moaned. "I don't feel up to arguing with you right now."

Daphne sighed. "I suppose I've had my fun…at least for now. Let's call a truce. I won't criticize you as long as you don't criticize me."

"Fair enough," Catherine agreed, willing to go along with almost anything in order to have some peace and quiet. "We have better things to do, anyway -– like thinking about our children and how we intend to raise them. Not to mention discussing names and such."

"Where is Bramwell?" Catherine inquired after taking another swig of lemonade and settling back in her comfortable chair. Bramwell had promised his wife that he would take care of his business in town as quickly as possible…then if it turned out as he expected, they would go out and celebrate –- but not inform the rest of the family of his new-found fortune until their return at the earliest, if not the following day. In the meantime, however, she would keep it to herself…the wonderful knowledge that Bram would at last be the financial equal of the rest of his family. He had always been more than their equal in every other way despite their shabby treatment of him -– but with luck, he would now be on a par with them in the only other way that counted…at least to a Collins.


	4. Bramwell's Ship Comes In, Literally

While waiting for Bramwell to return, Daphne lay down on their bed with her dress loosened and a hot water bottle on her belly. Catherine returned to Collinwood as soon as she felt up to it. Both sisters a greed not to let him catch her at the house if it could be avoided, for obvious reasons…at least not until what they deemed a more propitious time. What mattered most at this point was keeping stress and tension to a minimum, particularly since both women were now pregnant. On the way back to Collinwood, Catherine recalled her memories of Bramwell and their relationship as it had evolved over the years they had known each other. It seemed so strange that the love they had once shared could have turned to animosity so quickly. She deeply regretted hurting Bramwell, but believed that her marriage to Morgan was the only thing she could have done, the best thing for her child, in order to give him or her a name and financial security.

She knew she hadn't handled the situation very well, but all she could do was her utmost to make it up to Bramwell for her actions and at least try to be friends with him, even if they could no longer be lovers. After much thought, she even intended to allow him visitation rights, but only under certain conditions –- that Morgan would be her child's legal father; the best he could be was a first cousin. She prayed she would be able to make Bramwell understand that she had done what she did for their child's sake, not simply to spite him or for the sake of money and position, as Daphne had accused her of doing…although she wouldn't be at all surprised if Bramwell never forgave her and remained every bit as hurt and bitter as he was now. In all honesty, Catherine had to admit that she couldn't blame him for feeling as he did. She would have felt the same way in his position. Perhaps she should discuss the situation with Flora at some point and see if they couldn't come up with something everyone could live with.

Ordinarily she would have discussed it with Daphne, but of late the two sisters –- usually as close as two peas in a pod despite their age difference -– argued vehemently whenever they were within speaking distance of each other. Besides, Catherine didn't care to have to listen to her sister rhapsodize about Bramwell and how happy she was with him. Matters were difficult enough between them as it was without having to endure that. The bedroom was unoccupied and in shadow since it was late in the afternoon, around four-thirty. Catherine lit the bedside lamp and removed her dress and petticoats, leaving on just her lacy chemise and underdrawers, preparing a fresh washcloth prior to lying down on the bed and closing her eyes. She didn't feel up to going downstairs and preparing a hot water bottle, even though sharp cramps stabbed through her. She hoped she could wait until someone came to check on her and then have them bring one to her. With that thought, she closed her eyes and willed herself to relax, determined to at least have some time alone before encountering any of the others, even if she was too keyed up to sleep.

The next thing Catherine knew, it was morning. She must have fallen asleep after all, and to her surprise Morgan was curled up asleep in the overstuffed bedside chair, where he had obviously spent the night watching over her…or attempting to do so, at any rate. The blanket he had placed around himself had fallen to the floor, so after she quietly dressed, she placed it around him again and kissed him on the forehead before leaving, intending to find Flora and have a private talk with her if she was awake. Catherine still felt somewhat queasy but at least her cramps had subsided, which she was thankful for. She might even be able to eat something -– or failing that, some milk and orange juice. Upon going downstairs, she searched for her mother-in-law; she found her in the drawing room writing letters with a cup of tea at her elbow.

Flora smiled upon noticing her daughter-in-law's entrance. "Good morning, my dear. Do you feel better? Morgan said he found you asleep when he returned to your bedroom last night, so he intended to sit up with you and watch over you."

"Yes, I'm fine, Flora. Thank you. He's still asleep, though, so I made sure to be quiet as not to wake him. But that's not why I'm here."

"Then why are you here?" Flora wondered. "Is something wrong?"

"Oh, no. As I said, everything's fine. I just need to speak with you privately, if that's all right."

"Of course. What did you need to talk about?" Flora laid down her pen and turned to face the younger woman.

"About my marriage," she confessed. "Ordinarily I'd talk about this with Daphne, but she's too wrapped up in her own marriage and pregnancy at the moment."

It was the best excuse she could think of quickly. In reality, she wasn't up to either Daphne lecturing her or having to listen to her rhapsodizing about Bramwell, not to mention her endless speculation on what sex her child would be, who he or she was going to look like.

"What about your marriage?" Flora prompted. "You _are_ happy with Morgan, aren't you?"

"Of course; that's not the problem. Have you heard the rumors that I supposedly only married him for the sake of money and position?"

Flora nodded. "You're not telling me they're true, I hope."

"No, never," was the almost-too-quick reply. Flora's penciled brows rose when she noted this, but didn't voice it to Catherine. "Nor is the rumor you've probably heard about it being Bramwell's child."

"No? The two of you were lovers for some time, were you not?"

"Yes, we were," Catherine had to admit. "But we haven't seen each other since Bramwell married Daphne."

"What about the time he kidnapped you shortly before your marriage to Morgan? The two of you didn't have intercourse then, did you?"

Catherine turned crimson at the mere thought of the passionate night which had engendered the child she now carried…and even as enjoyable as marital sex with her husband had been, it was still not up to the caliber of that night's goings-on. "Well -– yes," she had to admit. "But it was not consensual." _At least, not at first_, Catherine thought. "As I have said more than once, the child I carry belongs to Morgan." _Legally, at any rate,_ she finished in her mind. _After all, Bramwell's going to have a child with Daphne; he doesn't need mine._

"Well, I'm certainly relieved to hear that," Flora opined. "It's good to know that my grandchild will truly be my grandchild."

Catherine only hoped that her child didn't turn out to look like Bramwell; she didn't know how she would ever explain that. Her hope was that the child would look like her or even like one of her or Morgan's parents. Fortunately, Justin Collins had also had dark eyes, as Bramwell did. It would be easier to explain a child with dark eyes that way. She then decided to go get something to eat; Flora asked where she was going.

"I'm feeling hungry. I think I'll try to eat something. I'll see you later."

"A good idea, if only for your baby's sake," the older woman agreed. "Have a good day, Catherine."

"You too, Flora. Thank you for the talk." Catherine nodded and smiled in her mother-in-law's direction, then headed for the drawing room doors.

"Any time." With that, Flora returned to her letter-writing and finished her tea, hoping her feeling that Catherine wasn't telling her everything nor being entirely truthful was just that –- a feeling –- and forever remained such.

As for Bramwell and Daphne, things had turned out better than even he had ever imagined they could. In fact, it was all he could do not to run all the way home once he had discovered the full extent of his new-found wealth. The buyers for the books and the antiques had not only paid the agreed-upon prices, they had paid the _high-end_ prices. Wait until he told Daphne and his mother! They would get all duded up, then go out and celebrate at the fanciest place in town…then later on he intended to buy his mother her own home and she could furnish it as she had always dreamed, just as he intended to allow Daphne to do the same with the Old House -– with the exception of his study. That he intended to do himself. It would reflect him as nothing else ever had. And just wait until he opened his new account at the bank! He now had enough money to rival any of his high-brow relatives, be it here, Bangor or anywhere else.

Bramwell's trip home from the docks seemed endless, but at last he made it back, around three-thirty the following afternoon (he had had to stay in town overnight since the ship had come in so late). Once he finally arrived, he called out for his wife and mother to come immediately. Daphne came running upon hearing the sound of her husband's voice. Josette came somewhat more slowly, unable to run as the younger Mrs. Collins did because of her age.

"Daphne, we're rich, we're rich!" he called out happily as she ran into his arms and he spun her around, covering her face with kisses as she laughed with pure joy.

"My darling, that's wonderful. I'm so proud of you!" She hugged him back just as tightly as he did her; soon the couple were both breathless from both excitement and happiness.

At that moment Josette reached him; Bramwell released his wife and hugged his mother just as tightly, although he didn't spin her around. "Mother, I'm rich! Now I'll be able to give you everything you've ever wanted - everything you deserve for all you've done for me. But in the meantime, we're all going to get into our good clothes and go to the fanciest restaurant in town! I've already made reservations, so they'll be expecting us as soon as we arrive."

"That's wonderful, _mon cher fil_. I'm so very happy and proud of you!" she told her son as soon as she had breath to do so, upon his releasing her. "Now we've got no time to waste. We've got to get ready! Bramwell, you go prepare yourself. Daphne and I will help each other and meet you here as soon as we're prepared."

"All right," he returned, taking the stairs two at a time, at the top almost before Daphne began helping her mother-in-law upstairs to her room so they could get ready for their fancy dinner out.

Bramwell was ready in roughly an hour and half, after bathing and changing into his best suit, pacing the parlor floor back and forth while waiting for his womenfolk to join him. It was another hour and a half before he finally saw them descending the stairs, Daphne in her second-best dress, a turquoise blue, Empire-waisted number festooned with lace over the bodice and on the sleeves, as well as a wide swath of it down the front to the wore her best (and favorite) dress, one similar in design to Daphne's but a burgundy color; both their hairstyles were upswept with ringlets hanging down at the backs of their heads.

Bramwell had never seen either of his ladies look better, and knew he would be proud to be seen with them both when they walked into the restaurant, _chez_ Pierre's, at the appointed time with Daphne on his right arm and his mother on his left. It would be best of all if Morgan and Catherine happened to be there at the same time; that would top off an already perfect day by showing off to his gold-digging former lover his great good fortune and just what she had passed up by being so insistent on marrying Morgan and unable to wait for him to make his fortune. He would literally enjoy the look on her face upon seeing them as he had never enjoyed anything in his life!

They arrived at _chez_ Pierre's within the hour and were accorded all the attention worthy of a VIP. Obviously the word had spread very quickly of his new-found fortune, Bramwell was pleased to note, although he could only hope that his high-handed, haughtily superior kin had heard about it. He especially hoped that he would be able to see Catherine's face once she realized it-and see how smart she thought she was now! The maitre d' fawned over them like they were royalty and Bramwell relished every moment of it. He would never be called "the poor relation" again…and best of all, he wouldn't need to ask anyone for financial help - least of all his so-called family!

The head waiter himself escorted Josette Collins to their reserved table and gallantly seated both ladies, then his assistant handed them their menus and asked if there was anything they would like to drink before their meal. "A bottle of Dom Perignon, please," Bramwell informed him grandly.

"Of course, sir," the head waiter returned, bowing deferentially and departing to get it. The assistant waited patiently by the table to take their orders, pad and pencil in hand. After a time, Daphne and Josette gave their orders to the waiter, the latter in her native language of French, then Bramwell gave his. "Excellent choices, sir," the assistant waiter opined before nodding deferentially and departing to fill their orders.

It was while they were sipping Dom Perignon and waiting for their meal, the bottle sitting in ice on the table before them, that Morgan came in with Catherine on his arm and Flora behind him with Quentin. To say the looks on their faces upon seeing their "poor relation" sitting in such a ritzy establishment were priceless was to damn with faint praise. It was all Bramwell could do not to burst out laughing at the expressions on the faces of his arrogant, high-brow cousin and the two-faced, mercenary bitch he had married. Catherine's face was everything her jilted lover could have asked for and more; he only wished he could have known what she and the others were thinking.

"Bramwell, how can you possibly be here?" Morgan finally exclaimed, astonished. "I wouldn't think you could ever afford a place like this."

"Well, you're wrong, cousin. After today, I can afford to go anywhere that you go," Bramwell informed him with a superior air, savoring every moment.

"How did you ever get the money - rob a bank or something?"

"Morgan!" Flora gave her younger son a dangerous look. "That was uncalled for. You will apologize to your cousin this instant!"

"No, Mother," Morgan returned quietly, defiantly.

"What did you say?" Flora returned, her expression ominous.

"I said, I will not apologize. Bramwell does not belong. No matter how much money he has now, however he came by it, he does not belong in high society and will never belong."

Bramwell was determined not to let anyone ruin the happiest day of his life, least of all Morgan. "I have as much right to be here as you do," he shot back, fighting to keep his temper but finding it more and more difficult with every passing moment. "And even though you prefer to forget the fact, I am just as much a Collins as you are!"

"An accident of birth," Morgan all but sneered.

"That's right," Daphne put in, feeling a surge of righteous anger on her husband's behalf. "Just what makes you think you have any right to judge him after treating him like less than the dirt under your feet simply because he didn't have as much money as you? Well, now he's equal to you - just as he's always been, both financially _and_ as a person, even without money - and nothing you or anyone else says can change that, now or ever!" Her raised voice was attracting the attention of other patrons, and Catherine pulled at her husband's arm even as she glared at him.

"Morgan, this is not the time for confrontations. We came here to eat, not have a fight, remember?" Catherine was every bit as stunned at Bramwell's newly-made fortune as the others, and in spite of herself was wondering that perhaps she had been a bit too hasty in rejecting him without giving him a fair chance to make his fortune. Unfortunately it was too late to change anything. They would each have to live with their choices as best they could. Morgan reluctantly acquiesced to his wife's pleadings.

"This isn't finished, Bramwell," he warned. "I intend to leave no stone unturned in order to discover just how you came by so much money virtually overnight - and if I know you, it couldn't have been honestly!" With that, he moved off with haughty dignity, Catherine beside him and Flora on Quentin's arm behind they were gone,

Bramwell sat stiffly in his chair, white with suppressed fury, his fists tightly clenched. Daphne tried to soothe her husband. "Darling, please relax. He's not worth getting upset over - none of them are. We know that you made your fortune honestly, and that's what counts. We don't need them anyway…any of them - so just forget about them and enjoy the evening." The warmth and tenderness in his wife's voice reached Bram even through his veil of anger and he managed a smile at his two ladies.

"You're right. They're not worth spoiling my evening over." He took a long, satisfying swallow of the expensive champagne, then set down the now-empty glass and sat back in his chair to breathe a deep sigh of relief and relaxation. He didn't know just how she'd done it, but Daphne had changed him from a man ready to kill to a virtual pussycat…but what mattered was that she'd done it. A short time later, the food came and the three at the reserved table savored every bite, particularly Bramwell - not only for himself and his wife but his hard-working, unselfish, God-fearing mother. She deserved every luxury he could give her and by God, he intended to see that she got them…starting with the fanciest meal he could afford, along with the fanciest dessert!

Once the remains of the meal had been taken away, the assistant waiter reappeared to inquire as to whether the _madame_s and _monsieur_ would care for some dessert. Daphne declined, declaring herself full, but Bram and his mother both got _crepes __suzette,_ along with a new bottle of Dom Perignon to take home. Over dessert, he and Josette discussed plans for her new home, which he intended to have built in the finest section of Collinsport and furnished with the finest French antiques his new-found fortune could buy.

"Oh, _mon __cher __fil_, what matters most to me is being near you," Josette insisted. "Although it is most sweet of you to want to do this for me."

"Kindness has little to do with it, Mother. You deserve it," Bramwell declared as he finished his dessert, shortly after Josette finished hers, leaving a generous tip for the restaurant's excellent service. "I will contact all the necessary merchants to get the ball rolling in the morning…and I won't take No for an answer."

"As you wish, my child," Josette reluctantly acquiesced even as both her heart and thoughts raced at the prospect of having her own home at last, a home she could decorate to her own taste and not have to accept charity from anyone or limit her spending. Choosing furniture, drapes, silverware and all the necessary accoutrements would occupy her mind and give her something to live for - the most she had had to live for since her beloved husband died and her cherished son was born.

Within the next half-hour the three were back in their hired carriage and headed back to the Old House…but Bramwell was determined that Josette not be under a roof provided by charity instead of his own hands any longer than necessary. Meanwhile, he intended to give Daphne all she deserved as well - lovely dresses and equally lovely jewelry, even though she had insisted time and again that the only jewelry she wanted was his wedding ring on her finger - but like Josette, she would eventually give in, if only to please her husband…and deep down, would enjoy every minute of his spoiling her, especially now that he could. Best of all, she could flaunt it all in front of Catherine!


	5. Confrontation

Bramwell was stunned, to put it mildly, to answer a knock on his door one day when Daphne was about three months pregnant and resting upstairs, particularly to find Catherine there — and without her everlasting shadow, Morgan. He couldn't help wondering how she'd ever managed to get away from him…yet strangely enough, was not as enthused about the present scenario as he had once been. He couldn't be sure just why that was; maybe as his mother said, he was finally learning to appreciate Daphne. Whatever the case, he really wasn't that interested in battling with Catherine — not over his so-called treatment of her, over marrying Daphne, not anything. So why was she here?

It was a cinch she would have a lot of explaining to do once she got back to Collinwood if anyone, particularly Morgan, caught her anywhere near the Old House. And somehow he didn't think Morgan would swallow her excuse of visiting Daphne; even he was aware that they now tended to argue whenever they got within speaking distance of each other — and in her condition, the last thing Catherine would want to do was cause herself any more stress…or Daphne, either, for that matter.

"Catherine, what are you doing here?" he asked.

"I need to talk to you, Bramwell," she told him.

"About what?"

"For one thing, what happened at _chez Pierre_'s last night. How were you ever able to afford to go there even once? You've always been as poor as the proverbial church mouse."

"Not any more, I'm not," he shot back. "And if I can manage it, I never will be — not ever again. Of course, I can't say I'm surprised why you even care that I've suddenly come into money. That's all you've really cared about for as long as I can remember. Certainly it can't be that you actually give a damn about me as a person, especially not now that you've got the money and status you've always wanted."

"Bramwell, please," Catherine almost moaned. "I didn't come here to fight. Besides, I get enough of that from Daphne. Are you going to invite me in or not? I need to sit down; it was quite a hike over here and my stomach is queasy."

Without a word, he gestured so that Catherine could come in and seat herself. He seated himself on the sofa across from her; they stared at each other for a long, awkward moment, before Bramwell offered to bring her a cold drink. "What would you like?" he asked. "We have iced tea, lemonade and water at the moment."

"Lemonade's fine," Catherine replied.

"Be right back."

When he returned, Bramwell had brought one tall icy glass for both of them, handed one to her, then sat down facing her with his own. "You said you wanted to talk. What about?"

"Other than how you came into so much money virtually overnight? Well, it might be nice to know just why you feel you have to romance Daphne in front of me every chance you get. You forget how well I know you, Bramwell. I know you're doing it to punish me for what you think I did to you."

"What I _think_ you did to me?" Bramwell almost launched himself off the sofa at her. "Where were you when Morgan called me out, then shot me? Where were you when I needed medical care? I tried to stop you from making the biggest mistake of your life, repeatedly, but did you listen? No, you did just as you damn well pleased…because you think you know all the answers, just as you always have, and never mind what anyone else thinks. You've got to have your own way in everything."

"Believe it or not, Bramwell, I still care for you and am truly sorry for hurting you, but I did what I had to do — what was best for our child. I'm also sorry for not believing in you or helping you when you needed it…but how was I to know that you were going to come into your fortune this soon? I needed to ensure our child's security and at the time, you had nothing to offer on that score — and Morgan did."

"That still doesn't excuse your never bothering to visit me or even inquire about me when I was injured because of Morgan. Do you realize that if that bullet had hit me even an inch more to the left, I would be dead now? And would it have mattered one iota to you? No, not one bit — not as long as you got what you wanted! Daphne's the only one who ever did anything for me, the only other woman besides my mother who ever loved me for myself and not for what I could give her. Mercenary is still mercenary, Catherine, no matter how you try to justify it."

"Are you saying that you no longer care for me, then?"

"How astute of you, my dear," he returned coldly. "You had your chance, but my love wasn't good enough for you. You had to have money, you had to have status, you had to have social position…and it didn't matter who you hurt or what you had to do to get it. And don't think I don't know that you think I'm simply using Daphne to get back at you. That isn't true…not any more, anyway.

"The love you scorned now belongs to Daphne, and that's where it will stay. You wanted Morgan so badly, you've got him. You've got his name, his money, his status. But Daphne has my name, my money, my status…and one thing more: my love. I grant you, that wasn't always the case, but it is now. Can you truly say that you have Morgan's love? I frankly don't think he knows the meaning of the word — nor do you. Not any more. Not after the way you've run roughshod over everyone possible in order to get what you want."

"So where does this leave us?"

"Us? There hasn't been an 'us' for the past five months. You saw to that." His retort was a mixture of pain and bitterness. "And now that I have Daphne, it's going to stay that way. I no longer care one way or the other what you do with your life. You can louse it up any way you damn please - but I'm going to keep an eagle eye on you where my child is concerned. You had better do your utmost to see to it that he or she is healthy, happy and loved, or else I will make you sorry you ever tangled with me!"

"How can you have changed so much from the man I used to know, Bramwell? How can you have allowed the love we once shared to turn to hate?" Catherine's tone was both sad and questioning.

"If you don't know, then it would be pointless for me to tell you," he replied. "I'm sorry, Catherine. I don't think we have anything further to say to each other. Go back to your high-brow husband. You deserve each other. I don't need you; I've got Daphne now. Which reminds me — she'll be waking up soon. I need to make sure she's all right." He stood up and turned for the stairs. "I trust you can find your own way out."

With that, he turned on his heel and marched upstairs to check on his wife — the wife he had just realized he truly loved…the wife who was carrying his child. He had not done right by her in marrying her, because it had been for the wrong reasons, but now that he knew he loved her, he would spend the rest of his life making it up to her. He did not deserve her love; he had never deserved her — but intended to do everything in his power to change that.

Behind him, Catherine's eyes filled with tears as she got up from her chair and headed for the door. She had never meant to hurt Bramwell, God knew, but she now knew she had, and more deeply than she had ever dreamed possible. She frankly wouldn't be surprised if both he and Daphne hated her for the rest of their lives, especially after the way she had treated them. They were far more intelligent than anyone around them had ever given them credit for, but had always been treated like they were simple-minded, dishonest and backward…less than the dirt under the feet of the family members with more money, simply because they lacked it — which was no longer the case.

Daphne had told her something like this would happen…and she was right. But how could she, Catherine, have known what the repercussions of her actions would be? Well, she certainly knew now…and would be paying for it the rest of her life. Which reminded her — she had never gotten the chance to ask Bramwell just how he had made his fortune. At this point, Catherine doubted he would speak to her any further tonight, so she would have to make discreet inquiries of everyone she knew at every opportunity, see if she could find out that way. Then she could tell Morgan - and if they found out what she thought they would, both of them would be eating a lot of crow for a long time to come.


	6. Revelations

It was more difficult than Catherine had ever imagined to find out what she wanted to know; because of the way she had treated the ones most likely to know (and thus alienated them), such as Bramwell himself, his mother… and worst of all, her own sister, she was unable to learn anything further. To them she was now the enemy, and with a part of herself she couldn't blame them for feeling as they did. She eventually realized that the only way she was going to find out anything was if she could get Flora, who was on excellent terms with all three, to learn the details behind Bramwell's suddenly coming into such a large fortune and tell her — then she could tell Morgan and he could take it from there.

She explained her situation to Flora and her mother-in-law agreed to speak with Bramwell's mother and see what she could find out. Catherine was thankful that Flora didn't throw it in her face that a lot of her problem was her own doing, although she easily could have. Fortunately, Flora wasn't that kind of person. In a later time, she could easily have become a diplomat, but in this time the best she could do was use her ability to keep her family on speaking terms to both her own (and their) advantage. It was several days later that Flora brought Catherine the desired information and gave it to her — as well as copies of the necessary legal documents (not to mention names and addresses) which Morgan would surely want to prove that everything was above-board. She felt even worse upon learning how many years Bramwell had saved, assuming that at the end of that time he would marry her and be able to set her up in style.

Instead, she had almost literally pulled the rug out from under him, at least on that score…but in spite of that, she knew it wasn't entirely her fault that things had happened the way they did. It was mainly because of the month's delay in the ship's original arrival time (the one carrying the almost priceless original antique furniture and first-edition, hand-autographed books) that she had made the decision to marry Morgan for the security of the child she carried. In all fairness to her, Catherine had had no idea that any of this was going on behind the scenes, but neither had she ever imagined Bramwell capable of anything which would make any substantial amount of money. Well, this only proved how wrong she and Morgan had been about him…and had always been. Not that Morgan was likely to be either able or willing to admit that fact (even to himself), even once he knew all the details, but she herself would have no choice but to admit it — at least to herself, and act accordingly. Once she arrived back at Collinwood she decided to have a light meal and then a nap while waiting for Morgan to return (he had gone into Collinsport for something; she didn't recall what). She would tell him what she had learned at the first opportunity after she had awakened.

It was early evening before Morgan returned, and Catherine had just awakened when he arrived. She barely had enough time to freshen up and prepare for him before he entered their bedroom. After they shared their customary kiss of greeting, she announced, "I found out what you wanted to know about Bramwell. Your mother gave me all the information…but I must warn you, Morgan, some of it is not going to be easy for you to swallow, to put it mildly."

"Let me be the judge of that," he countered, sitting on the bed beside her. "Where's the information?"

She handed him the large, fairly thick envelope Flora had given her and sat quietly beside her husband with her hands folded in her lap while he silently and thoroughly examined each and every paper and document he came across. After a time his face hardened (she surmised he had learned how he had made the fortune), then his eyes went flinty not long after that; she could only assume that he had learned the amount of it. Even once he put the paperwork down, it was a long time before she dared speak to him. When she did, it was because he had spoken to her first.

"Well, it seems as though we have seriously underestimated Bramwell, at least as far as making money is concerned — but this still doesn't make him our equal."

"But this shows that even he has the Collins ability to make money," Catherine pointed out. "So even if you continue to distrust and dislike him for other reasons, he deserves respect for this, particularly since he made his fortune with his own hands."

"And I simply _inherited_ mine," Morgan bit out. "Is that what you were going to say next?"

"Morgan, don't be ridiculous. Money is money, however it's acquired, and you have ten times more than Bramwell. I don't think you have to worry about him beating you on that score."

"Perhaps not," her husband reluctantly agreed. "But just the same, I intend to keep my eye on him. If he can make three million dollars on one deal, who's to say that he won't be able to multiply it ten times over — if not more — in another?"

Catherine couldn't argue with that, so she didn't try…but even at that, knew she was going to have a lot of making up to do, particularly to her sister and perhaps Josette. After what she had put him through, she seriously doubted Bramwell would want to associate with her on even a casual basis ever again, so she would consider herself fortunate if she were able to reinstate herself in at least her sister's good graces, if nothing else.

It was mainly because of Flora's mediation that the two opposing factions even spoke to each other over the ensuing months until Catherine gave birth — and fortunately for her, it was a girl who was a carbon copy of her except for her dark eyes and hair like Bramwell's (and Justin's and Morgan's). At least the part about the dark hair; Morgan had hazel eyes). Unfortunately it was a difficult labor for Catherine, over 18 hours…and in the end, because of complications during the birth, she discovered that she would have been unable to bear further children without endangering her life. To avoid this, the doctor had decided to perform the drastic but unfortunately necessary gynecological surgery which would render Catherine essentially sterile for the rest of her life shortly after the birth of her child.

All were thankful that Catherine and the baby had both survived the birth, but in spite of his joy at his new fatherhood, Morgan knew they would have to make the most of this child, their daughter, since she would be the only one they would have…unless they decided to adopt another child later. Catherine couldn't help thinking how Bramwell would react to the news, in spite of his professed contempt of her and all she had put him through — and worst of all, denying him the chance to know his child.

It was in Catherine's seventh month, September (it was now early November) that the parents-to-be had decided to name the child (if a boy), William Morgan, and if a girl, Elizabeth Catherine, to honor her and Daphne's mother, Elizabeth Morehouse Harridge, who had died of cholera, along with their father Elias, who had caught it from her while trying to treat her. She had only been ten at the time and Daphne just three. They had been raised by Elizabeth's parents, who had subsequently died when Catherine was barely of age (around nineteen) and Daphne barely twelve. Catherine had been determined not to be separated from her sister, now her only living relative, so she sought work as a children's tutor. She taught mostly English grammar, etiquette and mathematics, all her best subjects in her own school days, but managed to make enough to keep herself and Daphne dressed, fed and sheltered comfortably, if not luxuriously.

It had been for this reason more than anything else that Catherine had begun seeing the wealthy and hand- some Morgan Collins, cousin to her childhood sweetheart and long-time lover, his "poor relation" Bramwell Collins, son of Josette DuPres Collins and the late Barnabas Collins. She had never been able to bring herself to tell even Bramwell how she had supported herself and Daphne since both their parents and grandparents died…and that only because he had not the financial means to help her and Daphne, but Morgan did. But she had paid for her well-meaning deception by losing Bramwell and possibly Daphne too…and not only because she had not seen fit to confide in them her real reasons for marrying Morgan. Fortunately, Catherine had a small wedge she could use in her attempt to make amends to them. She knew how Daphne loved children — had in fact helped her teach them over the years — and once she set eyes on little Elizabeth, she would be instantly smitten by her, if only because she was Bramwell's biological child in spite of the fact that Morgan would be her legal father.


	7. A New Generation

Catherine could also well imagine how Bramwell himself would react once he saw his daughter even as she picked up the ornate birth announcement she herself had designed and submitted to the Collinsport _Star_, which had run it on the lower half of the front page with a short article accompanying it, smiling as she examined it.

Mrs. Flora Collins proudly announces the birth of her granddaughter

Elizabeth Catherine Collins

Born at Collinwood, 6 November 1841

8 lbs., 3 oz., 19" long

Hair: Black Eyes: Brown Complexion: Fair

Parents: Morgan James Collins & Catherine Elizabeth Harridge Collins

When little Elizabeth was six weeks old, a personal call from Bramwell in the middle of the night informed everyone that Daphne was in labor. Her official due date was a month away, so naturally everyone wondered what had happened to make her go into labor early. At any rate, the same doctor who had delivered Elizabeth was summoned by Quentin since Bramwell didn't want to be away from Daphne any longer than necessary. As it was, he had only come because he thought Catherine might want to know, even if she couldn't be with her sister because she was still recovering from her own difficult pregnancy.

By the time Bram returned home, the housekeeper told him that the doctor had arrived and was with Daphne right now. He took the stairs two at a time and arrived at their bedroom in half the time it usually took him. He was stunned to note that the doctor was waving his watch in front of Daphne's eyes and speaking soothingly to her. "Relax now, Mrs. Collins… there is no pain…relax, relax…think only of pushing your child out…there is no pain, there is no pain…"

He didn't see how it could possibly have helped her, but distinctly remembered how much pain she had been in, writhing and moaning on their bed. Now she seemed relaxed and quiet, almost asleep. Bramwell moved to seat himself on the bed beside his wife, pleased to note that she was breathing normally and only wincing occasionally, smiling after he had wiped her perspiring face with a cool, wet washcloth.

"Beloved."

"My darling," he replied. "I notice you're feeling better."

"The doctor has been…hypnotizing me, helping me to relax. I still hurt, but not nearly as much as I was when my labor started. He even said I would be unlikely to need as much painkiller because of it. I may not even need -" She broke off as she was struck by yet another contraction and pushed hard; the doctor again began waving the watch in front of her face and crooning soothingly to her until she relaxed again.

"You may not even need what?" he asked.

"Forceps to help bring the baby's head out," she finished. "Instead, he thinks he'll be able to work it out with his hands."

"That's wonderful," Bramwell opined happily, his happiness compounded because he knew that at least he would be publicly able to acknowledge this child as his, unlike the beautiful little girl Catherine had borne. Little Elizabeth was the image of her mother, except for her dark hair and eyes, identical to his own. Even his mother Josette was more likely to spend time with her than he, however, even if she could no more publicly acknowledge her as her grandchild any more than he could claim her as his child. Rather, Flora and Morgan would have that honor. At this point, Bram could only hope that his and Daphne's child would also be a girl. But whatever it turned out to be, he was pleased to know that he and Daphne would be the ones to raise it. The only good thing about Catherine's being unable to have any further children was the fact that the one child she had had belonged to him, if only biologically. However, it was only a matter of hours now until he had another…

He was brought back to reality by Daphne crying out, "Bramwell, the baby's coming! It's coming! Oh, my darling, hold my hand…hold my hand. Give me your strength!"

He reached out his hand to her and her hand clamped onto it with a vise-like grip. "I'm here, my love. I'm here! Push hard now…as hard as you can…as hard as you can…"

Even at that, his voice was barely heard over that of the doctor, one James Thoroughgood, the best OB/GYN in all of Bangor. He continued to croon to his patient to relax, relax, even as his gloved hands carefully worked the baby's head out. Once that was done, it was only a short time later that she pushed hard and the shoulders came through. In spite of all the doctor could do, however, Daphne was unable to keep from screaming with the pain and he had to make a small incision to make it easier for her — aka the episiotomy. After that, though, it was only a matter of minutes until the baby was out.

Once that had been accomplished, the doctor cut and cauterized the umbilicus, then held the baby up by his heels and slapped his behind to make him breathe. A loud wail filled the room even as the new parents found themselves crying with pure happiness and unfathomable joy. Shortly after the afterbirth had been delivered and the new parents were reveling in their healthy, perfectly formed baby boy, the doctor noted telltale signs that Daphne's childbirth was not finished yet. Another child was waiting to be born! Only when Daphne once again began to feel labor contractions did Bramwell himself sense that another child was on the way. He was scarcely able to fathom the idea, but he was going to have twins…twins!

A mere half-hour later a second son was born to them and Daphne had once again screamed when the shoulders came out…but that was all. The hypnotism had worked like a charm; she had only needed about a third as much painkiller as in a so-called "normal" delivery. Of course, it was just as likely that Daphne's youth and robust health was a factor in her bearing two identical twin sons with few problems or complications and relatively little pain. Thoroughgood cleaned her out thoroughly after making sure the second afterbirth had been delivered, the baby's breathing started and the second umbilicus cut and cauterized (not to mention making sure that the episiotomy incision had been sutured).

Bramwell found it difficult to believe this day had actually happened. He was the father of identical twin boys! After kissing his now-sleeping wife, he leaned back in the bedside chair and stretched even as he yawned deeply. He would have the housekeeper care for the babies until Daphne awakened, then they would choose a nurse for them to help out once she got her strength back and recovered from her pregnancy. The long, exhausting eighteen hours of labor had brought them into the evening hours of December 22, 1841. What a marvelous Christmas present this would be! He forced himself to stand, then managed to stagger over to the nearby single bed — Daphne deserved at least one night of uninterrupted sleep — and fell onto it, asleep almost as soon as he hit the pillow. His last coherent thought was a reminder to himself to get a second cradle, then inform the family of the twins' birth…once they had been officially named and all that, of course. In the meantime, he and Daphne would privately celebrate the birth of their sons.

Fortunately the housekeeper had been prepared to care for the babies, since she was a mother of six now-grown children herself. She knew just what to do from the moment the doctor had taken his leave — washed the babies and fed them, then wrapped them in blankets after diapering them. Thoroughgood had told her before his departure that he would return to weigh and measure the babies after they had all had a chance to sleep. The only things he had recorded up to this point were their times of birth — 8 p.m. and 8:30 p.m. respectively. The hair color, eye color and complexion type, not to mention the registering of their birth and the certifi- cates, could wait until his return.

Once everyone had had a chance to sleep and have breakfast — including the aforementioned caregivers — Thoroughgood returned with all the necessary paraphernalia to weigh and measure the babies, not to mention make out their birth certificate. They were named as follows: the first one born was named Jonathan Barnabas and weighed 6 lbs., 13 oz., and the younger one was named Elias Montgomery, weighing in at 6 lbs., 7 oz. Also, the former was dark like his father but the latter was more fair-skinned like his mother. Finally, Jonathan Barnabas had measured out at 18", while his brother was 17". Once all that was done, the new parents discussed the birth announcement and how to word it…among other things. It took roughly a week to figure out just how they wanted the announcement to look — and the proud father was the one who submitted it to the local newspaper as well as all family members and friends. It took several days, but the announcement looked something like this, at least wording-wise:

Mr. & Mrs. Bramwell Collins are proud to announce the birth of twin sons

Jonathan Barnabas and Elias Montgomery

Born: December 22, 1841 Times: 8 and 8:30 PM

Location: Old House (original Collinwood)

Hair: Black Eyes: Brown & hazel respectively

Weights: 6 lbs 13 oz & 6 lbs 7 oz respectively

Complexions: Dark and fair respectively

Lengths: 18" and 17" respectively

Parents: Bramwell Jonathan Collins & Daphne Elizabeth Harridge Collins

Paternal Grandparents: Barnabas & Josette DuPres Collins

Maternal Grandparents: Elias & Elizabeth Morehouse Harridge

By the time Daphne was on her feet again and could receive visitors, she had received flowers and good wishes from practically everyone in town — but for a time, the only visitors Bramwell would allow were friends and family…and first and foremost, his mother Josette, the only grandparent the boys were likely to ever know. The best they could do otherwise was show them pictures of their other grandparents and tell the boys about them once they were old enough to understand. For the time being, however, they vowed to simply enjoy the town's attention and adulation while it lasted…but most importantly, allow Josette to spoil the boys rotten, at least for a time, in order to make up for her inability to do so with her biological granddaughter, Catherine's child, little Elizabeth.

Hopefully the children could at least be friends once they'd grown up enough, but for the time being, they would be kept apart. All concerned decided not to mention that they were in reality half-brothers and sister until and unless the subject came up. Of course, Josette wasn't their only visitor, but was certainly the most frequent one. Flora, Quentin and Melanie also came to see the boys, as well as Julia, and Catherine when she was well enough. Melanie and Kendrick Young, her betrothed, had agreed to postpone their wedding until both new mothers could attend; the new date was now a month in the future, which would put them into the New Year of 1842. Special considerations would have to be made, however, since it would be a winter wedding—and the fact that three babies under six months of age would be there as well. It would be necessary to have all the babies' things and set up a temporary nursery at the church.


	8. Epilogue

As it turned out, both mothers were in the wedding party — Catherine as Matron of Honor and Daphne as bridesmaid. Melanie's wedding dress would be lined with flannel as well as lace- and pearl-trimmed, although it would fit her like a second skin, except for the full skirt. She would wear long white, fur-lined gloves and her undergarments would be ladies' thermals, covered by several lacy petticoats. Her shoes would be specially-designed snow boots, which would also be fur-lined. As for the headdress, it would be a furry earmuff set decorated with lace and roses which fit on and over the top of her head, so as not to completely cover her golden hair, which would be specially styled.

Over everything else, of course, would be a floor-length fur-lined and trimmed cream-colored wool cloak with a hood, framing her already lovely face and making it even more so, especially to her doting new husband. After the wedding was over, the guests were reluctant to leave the heated church, but had no choice if they wanted to attend the reception, which would be back at Collinwood. They threw a mixture of rice and salt after the newlyweds, watching—some with tears of happiness in their eyes — as they got into a specially made white coach with a team of four white horses whose bridles and headdresses were decorated with wedding ribbon, lace and bells, as was the coach itself.

The coach's seat was covered with a thick blanket, which Kendrick Young tucked around his new bride and himself before pushing her hood back and removing her headdress so that her perfumed cornsilk hair fell to her shoulders. She lifted her head to look tenderly into his eyes; he lifted a hand to her cheek, stroked her lips, then her hair before bending down to find her lips with his in a lingering kiss even while sliding his arms around her to hold her close. Of course, he had made sure that they had sufficient privacy for the half-hour ride to Collinwood, the curtains having been closed just after they had settled into the coach. Once they had gone into each other's arms, they knew nothing else until they had arrived back at the Great House.

The drawing room at Collinwood was also decorated within an inch of its life, with tall vases of white roses at the four corners of same, ribbons, lace and bells strung along the fireplace and the long table which held the wedding cake, food and gifts. In fact it was reminiscent of the wedding of Bramwell and Daphne, even though the color scheme for that had been pink, in keeping with her favorite color. The gas lights were turned up to maximum as the reception got underway. It was fortunate that there were just fifty people total, although many others who had been unable to attend because of either the weather, lack of money or time (if not all three) had sent gifts to the newly married couple — and said gifts had been kept for safekeeping in one of the large bedrooms until the day of the wedding, having arrived during the four weeks prior to the wedding.

Some of the butler's assistants and maids had set up the tables, covering them with fine linen tablecloths; the fine china and silverware were placed around the cake and other food. The guestbook was on the same table as the gifts, and Flora had appointed herself the one to record who had given what and to make sure that everyone who attended the wedding and reception also signed the guestbook. Even at that, the drawing room was just barely large enough for everyone, although the mothers, Catherine and Daphne, were in and out depending on how urgent the needs of their children were. Both women were in pastel pink lace dresses, with matching roses in their hair. Catherine's was upswept in a mass of curls, although Daphne had opted to leave her dark shoulder-length hair down.

The other married couples had congratulated the newlyweds, with hugs and kisses all around, then moved off to sample the finger foods nearby. Gift-giving wouldn't happen until at least the majority of the food had been consumed. All the same, Daphne and Catherine considered themselves fortunate that Bramwell's mother Josette, a vision in burgundy lace and silver hair which seemed to glow in the heat of the gas lamps, had consented to look after the babies while their parents were otherwise occupied. Quentin, Morgan, Bramwell and Kendrick were all dressed identically in navy blue wool suits, crisp white shirts and cravats which matched their suits, all with thermal underwear beneath them.

They talked about the wedding among themselves even as the women gathered around a radiant Melanie who was happily showing off both the large diamond solitaire engagement ring Kendrick had given her, accompanied by her wedding ring, which consisted of a gold band with a dozen small diamonds circling her finger. It was mid-afternoon, around three p.m., when the newly married pair moved to cut the cake and feed it to each other; once that had been done and a reception supper had been served to all present, then daguerreotypes taken of all the wedding principals, the gift-giving began in earnest and went on until well into the evening. Even when they decided to stop for the evening, only about half the gifts had been opened, but all agreed to finish the following day as soon as the newlyweds showed their faces downstairs.

In the meantime, Melanie went off with her mother and the other women, only reluctantly leaving her new husband in order to change out of her wedding finery and into her second-best dress in order to throw her bouquet in the direction of all unmarried female guests and/or relatives. To the surprise of everyone, Julia actually caught the bouquet, but despite the old tradition, all knew it was unlikely that she would marry any time soon, if at all. Just the same, stranger things had happened…so no one totally discounted the possibility, if only for safety's sake. It was past nine – almost nine-thirty, in fact – before the couple was led to what would be their "honeymoon suite" for the duration, the room which had served as same for generations of Collins brides and grooms.

That room had been meticulously prepared as well, with everything either of the couple was likely to need, including Melanie's own choice of a filmy lace nightgown and peignoir set bought especially for her wedding night laid out on what would be her side of the bed. The lamps within the room had been turned down to a romantic level as Melanie excused herself to change into the nightgown and peignoir. Kendrick couldn't help a mixture of happiness, nervousness, anticipation and desire as he speculated on what the upcoming night with his new wife would bring even as he undressed and donned his best dressing-gown and pajama bottoms, waiting in the large overstuffed chair on his side of the bed, nursing a drink to calm himself while waiting for her.

It was almost ten o'clock before she joined him. A sniff of the air which contained her perfume and her gentle touch on his shoulder told him she was there…the woman he had loved from the moment he met her and the one he would love until he drew his last breath — the woman who was now his wife. Words were unnecessary as he stood up and turned to face her, soon moving to pull her close and kiss her with tenderness but also a passion Melanie had not felt in him before now. It was in the midst of said kiss that Kendrick literally swept his wife off her feet and into his arms to carry her to their marriage bed, intending to kiss, caress and love her within an inch of her life not only on this night, but every possible night of their lives together.

Upon placing her on her pillow, he began to slowly, lovingly undress her, tentatively kissing and caressing every inch of creamy bare flesh he uncovered, their kissing and touching soon becoming intimate. Melanie was hesitant to touch him at first, but he gently encouraged her and soon the couple's love and desire were both at fever pitch. All Kendrick could think of at this point was possessing her, making her his own for all time, whispering to her how much he wanted her, promising that he would do his best to be gentle with her. It was every bit as difficult as both had expected, and several times Melanie had cried out softly in pain as her husband had physically possessed her, but in the end only pleasure was exchanged between the married lovers and they eventually slept deeply and pleasantly in each other's arms after experiencing the most intense ecstasy they had ever known-virtually simultaneously.

Thanks to Flora, the warring factions of the family eventually came to an armed truce, at the very least able to speak civilly to each other while in the same room together, if not on affectionate or amiable terms…and even then, mainly for the sake of their children. Catherine even agreed to allow Bramwell to spend time with little Elizabeth (and the boys allowed to get to know their biological half sister but legal second cousin) as long as Daphne was there. The two sisters got along all right but their closeness of earlier times was gone, mainly because of what had passed between them up to this point, and this mainly because Catherine had vowed that she was not going to say anything derogatory about either her sister or Bramwell, at least not in their (or in time, their children's) hearing, even if she had to bite her tongue off to do it.

Of course, it was somewhat more difficult to control Morgan's tongue, but between her and Flora, she managed it — most of the time, anyway. As for the other side, they basically did the same, rarely dealing with the others one-on-one except when absolutely necessary, usually using other family members or letters to convey what they needed to say. Fortunately another bright spot was on the horizon: Melanie was beginning to show every indication of pregnancy roughly three months after her and Kendrick's marriage. Somewhat sooner than they had intended, but once it had been confirmed, Josette was thrilled at the prospect of another grandchild. What's more, a grandchild she could openly acknowledge as her own, unlike little Elizabeth, who was legally Flora's grandchild but biologically hers through Bramwell.

The marital relationship of Catherine and Morgan had also changed for the better, making it easier for them to grow closer and make the most of their only child, since Catherine could have no more. Deep down Morgan was certain that the child was not truly his, despite Catherine's insistence otherwise, contenting himself with his legal status as her father. He also wasn't fond of Catherine's allowing Bramwell to see her, but resigned himself to the fact upon learning that once Catherine had made up her mind to do something, there was little he could do to change it. What mattered was that Catherine and Elizabeth fully and truly belonged to him…and there was nothing Bramwell could do to change that. Consequently, this was the way the lives of the Collins clan would be lived, both for now and for the foreseeable future, if not for all time…because the women of said clan deemed it so.


End file.
